Dreams on the Island
by Maige
Summary: His interest in folklore found him to Canada in search for a ghostly ship. Instead, he found love in the form of an quiet Canadian...and something that Arthur never wished to witness in his life. Het MapleTea. Au.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia, or any of the references from horror novels that I might add. I have a lot in this first chapter here.

I'm sorry that this isn't an update to anything else. I do plan on updating And a Bottle of Rum pretty soon, along with some others that I haven't touched in almost a year...but first, I've been reading some Lovecraft again, and this just...hit me.

I'm almost hesitant to write this, considering my darker stories don't seem to get much feedback anymore, but...what the hell. Here goes nothing. I'm going to be trying something different. What really pulled my other stories down was that I _only_ focused on Arthur and Maddie. I never took more time other than a few paragraphs to show much with other characters, or at least put some more indepth material with them, and here I'm hopefully going to change that.

All Warnings: EnglandxFem!Canada, AmericaxFem!Japan, some other pairings (you can all suggest what pairings you want to see and I'll try to include them if I don't mind them), relations of the intimate sort, spookiness, folklore, swearing, etc.

Enjoy.

* * *

The bridge was, to its credit, a fantastically large and winding structure, a monster of steel and concrete that looked as if it could stretch on for the longest of miles (no, no kilometers. He was in Canada now, and as such he must begin to put the process of kilometers on the brain) and eventually stroll along into the territory of utter black oblivion, into the darkened blue sky that lay over to the horizon. And quite the intimating horizon it was, reaching out with the hands of the ocean to grab at him, taunt him teasingly to the island that would soon come into sight.

The local folks at the last province told him that, if the weather was smooth and the traffic was sparse, it would take him around fifteen to twenty minutes before the expanse of the bridge was over and the island would begin.

The skies were clear enough, only darkened by the fact that the sun was crawling down over the West, a quarter of a large, flaming ball sinking into the decrepit ocean. Cars were few and long in between, only passing by him every couple of minutes, all going the direction of opposite to which Arthur was going. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed that they had been in a hurry to mosey along back to New Brunswick.

From the way they talked over there, Arthur Kirkland could see why.

It had taken him months of research, into digging on what little information there was about Canada's smallest province, before he finally decided to drive up from New England (where he had been recently residing) to New Brunswick. He was more than glad to get out of Maine, really; Arthur had the misfortune of of being in a dank little town where everyone shot him looks, with expressions that he soon came to call the 'Derry look'. It was a vile little twist of the face that almost everyone in town appeared to harbor.

New Brunswick was slightly better. It just felt cleaner, for one, and though more than half of the population were French-Canadian, they all had a more cheerful aura about them. They spoke politely and rattled on about current events.

They were relatively nice citizens.

Until he mentioned where he wanted to go.

At twenty-six and quite wealthy, having adopted a fortune from his deceased father (one whose death was merely glanced over), Arthur Kirkland did not have much to go on in life. He knew how to handle his money, he didn't want a job, he didn't want to go to university or collage as there was nothing in his hobbies that any credible university would truly offer, so he came to traveling.

For one sole purpose.

Throughout his life Arthur had a deep love for all things supernatural, all things that people boggled their minds over to decide if it was real or not. It didn't matter what it was; haunted areas or buildings, ghostly images, creatures that weren't supposed to exist...he was positively fascinated by them all.

By the mere age of five he began to claim that he could see fairies, spirits, and all those sorts, claims that started off his utter abhorrence of his older brothers. Arthur's old man had been quite the ladies man, to say the least, and as such he bore a great load of bastard children from multiple wives...most who shoved the kids onto him, specifically Arthur, a Scotsman, an Irishman, and one whose Mother came around from Wales.

During his years as a young lad they pestered him over his love for all things faeries and magick, taunting and teasing him over if his invisible friends were around or not, or saying that they could, in fact, see his friends and brought along particularly nasty messages from the seemingly unreal phantoms.

This went on until his preteen years, when they all finally started to vacate the expansive house they were all stuffed into, and not five years later his Dad was pushing up daisies. As Arthur's Mom was the only one Mr. Kirkland appeared to be truly close to (unfortunately she also passed on, and that particular funeral had been the only depressing one anyone in the family had ever been to) and wrote his will to give the majority of his wealth to his youngest son, while giving much smaller sums to the rest of his kin, who were no doubt bearing the largest of grudges towards their British sibling.

And it was only then that Arthur came across the conclusion that traveling for more of his interest would be the proper thing to do with his life. After Maine though, he had been hoping for something a little less extreme in mind.

Derry had just been unsettling, atrocious. Rarely anyone would speak to him beyond being polite, no one would answer his questions about the mysterious earthquake that occurred there (one that had consequently destroyed the downtown section of the area), everyone walking on the streets avoided him like he was the damned plague, and everyone gave him that 'Derry look'.

Only two men were nice to him, one an older African American fellow who apparently lived there all of his life and worked at the local library. He explained gently to Arthur that Derry folk were not the kind of folk that took kindly to strangers, and after a string of killings that went on in the last century, they were still as secluded as ever.

During his stay Arthur had a feeling that the library man knew more, knew that the earthquake and the murders had something to do with events beyond the average human psychopath nor the average natural disaster. The other man, a guy who was really pushing in the years and was known as the town drunkard, would only speak if given some booze, seemingly the one liquid that would loosen his lips.

All the while Arthur had to keep himself from being lulled by the fuzzy beverage (he had a tendency himself to completely go out of it when tipsy) and he had to sit for hours as he listened to the old fellow ramble on about how everything started and occurred because of some awful celestial being that came from the sky. The only thing Arthur got from him that could have been considered normal was when he spoke about his childhood.

He spoke of time in the fifties, when the murders were running higher than ever, children mostly being killed, starting off with a young boy who amazingly enough had his arm pulled straight out his socket. Arthur himself thought it was sort of cliched that it happened to go on during a storm of all times, but said nothing of it and allowed his companion to go on with the tale.

He tittered on for another while, downing glasses of whiskey after whiskey (how an elderly guy such as him could contain so much alcohol was positively beyond Arthur), before abruptly going silent, his head nodding downwards, incoherent murmurings now exiting his creased mouth. Somewhat concerned that he may have brought on some alcohol poisoning, Arthur went out to touch the other, only to have what he considered to be the fright of his life when the senior suddenly looked back up, his eyes bulging out of their sunken sockets, and wrapped one ancient claw around Arthur's shoulder, taking him in the greatest of death grips, astoundingly tight for one as gray as he.

"I saw it," he had croaked out, his voice miraculously not thickened by the liquid he had been inhaling for the last two hours or so. His eyes had bulged further, their watery, red-lined depths unnerving Arthur like there was no tomorrow. "I was just a younglin' but I saw it all the same, and it stayed with me thru' all the years. A clown. A clown with balloons and silver dollars fer eyes an'-"

By then he was swirling back down to incomprehensible nonsense, his hand tightening on Arthur's shoulder enough to hurt, and the Brit had to halt their conversation and the flow of alcohol.

Arthur did not wish to go through that same kind of episode again. He had been to many places during his time traveling, but Derry was far too much for him; it was the first place that truly terrified him, in a sense that Arthur simply could not understand. So, while he was researching for more folklore, he happened to come across something that appeared to be relatively safe compared to everywhere else.

In the neighbor to the North, in the smallest of their provinces, there were rumors about a ghost ship.

Ghost ships were not rare. They were supposed to be seen everywhere where large bodies of water could be found. Arthur heard of them all; The Flying Dutchman, the Mary Celeste, the Zebrina, the Resolven...the list was capable of going on forever until the end of time. The thing about them though was they all had a backstory; either of myth or of something that came out of actual history. Each and every one was well known, and almost every one that Arthur heard of was from a real ship that sunk, crashed, or all over disappeared into the tranquilizing marks of the ocean.

This one was different.

There was barely anything about it. All Arthur caught was that, supposedly, at night (or on certain nights in particular stories) you had to go to what was called the Northumberland Straight, the body of water that was in between the island and New Brunswick, and from there you would see a ship within the water, inexplicably engulfed in flames. Some people said that it usually comes right before a storm or rough weather, some went out to try and save it but, naturally, it vanishes before their eyes before they can reach it.

Other than that there was nothing to say about it.

No one knew where it came from.

There was no sunken ship that people spoke of, one that could be the ghostly vessel they are viewing.

There was zip on a ship that had burned down into the waters.

And the lack of knowledge made Arthur more excited about it.

This meant that he could go and dig up more himself by going to where it was said to be seen. See it for himself, dive into the history, look through the nooks and crannies of the area so see if there had been in fact a ship that had unfortunately met a early demise by the untamed licks of fire. It was perfect for one such as him...going to the place of a supernatural event that didn't have much info could be frustrating at times, but all the same it could be just as interesting as being in a place clogged with heavy, descriptive folklore.

Such as why he was heading there now.

Back in New Brunswick they said that on both sides of the strait you could see it, but the island side had a better chance of spotting it out more clearly, thus dragging Arthur over this insane bridge. It was in the middle of summer, and a terribly humid day. The mugginess back at his homeland had been awful, but her never experienced one like this; the Brit never thought that Canada of all places could be so damn hot.

He went back and forth between the air conditioner in his car or cranking down the window, and went to the latter, more than glad that he did when he found the breeze floating off the water coming up and wafting into the car, bringing along a pungent but not all that awful aroma of salty breaches. So far, he had a feeling that this was going to be better than Maine - Derry was a poisoned town. From what he had seen so far of the maritimes, Arthur doubted that any of the places here could be as awful as that tiny little town.

With five more minutes passing by the clock, Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief when he came to the pay toll, handed over the wonderfully stupid sum of nearly fourty-five dollars cash, and went straight to the building right at the entrance of the bridge to get himself a map.

The British man wasn't able to leave for nearly another half hour. To his delight, the folks here seemed to be mighty chummy. The guy working at the station (a redhead in his twenties who did not seem to be deterred by the heat at all, and whose name was Brian) had to chatter on for a while with the stranger in the province. Asked him where he was heading, practically lit up like a Christmas tree when Arthur said that he was going off to Summerside, and immediately told him not to go to the main hotel, but to the house Downtown.

It was, as he said, made in the fashion of those old large houses from which people could rent rooms and live there. Cheaper than the hotel, close to where he needed to go, and it had everything that he was in need of - air conditioning and all that. It was owned by a sister and brother, one American (Arthur could not help but notice that only then did his pleasant air sour for a split second) and the younger sister born in Nova Scotia.

"I was there the first time I came here," he said, leaning his elbows against the desk. A leisurely worker type if Arthur had ever seen one. "About a year and a half ago. I came from Nova Scotia myself, a bit away from where she's from, and they took me in nice and right when I couldn't afford the hotel. The girl's name is Madeline, though everyone there knows her as Maddie. Sweet little bird, quiet as a lamb and just as polite, with the strangest looking eyes you'll ever see. Alfred, her older brother, on the other hand is...how can I put it...? I suppose the stereotypical American can fit his ticket right. He's as loud as sin, sort of obnoxious and has what I can only describe as a hero complex. Still, I guess you gotta say that he has a heart of gold. His intentions are in the right place."

"You make them sound like the wonder twins," Arthur replied with the smallest air of sarcasm, cocking one fuzzy eyebrow.

Brian stared at him before a long moment before bursting out into crisp, hearty laughter. Arthur waited patiently until he could speak again. "I guess you got the right name for them, mister. They can both be some nice, and quite appeasing to the eyes. I'm no queer or anything but no one can't admit that even Alfred's good looking. He's like the American golden boy."

Frowning briefly at the use of 'queer', Arthur nodded and took a quick glance to the left, to the doorway, hoping that Brian would get the hint that he wanted to arrive at Summerside as soon as possible. Talking to the locals there would be better for him than chatting along with people around here. The little information he gave him so far was usable, but Arthur did not believe that he was in need of anything else for the time being.

Thankfully, Brian did catch the hint and said, "It says right here on the map where downtown in Summerside is. It's a small place, so it won't take a long to find the house; it's called Bonnefoy Housing, by the way, named after Madeline's Dad. Hope you have a good stay while you're there, mister."

"Thank you." With a tight smile, Arthur hurriedly turned around, and then paused, something coming to mind. He didn't know why the question struck his head, yet it wouldn't allow him to leave before he uttered it. "By the way...how old are these two, exactly?"

"Pretty young," the answer came not a second after he questioned the young ginger. "Around my age, I guess. At least, Alfred is. I think Madeline's still in high school, next year will be her last probably. Why?"

Why? Now that was a brilliant question. Yet one he could not answer.

"I was merely curious," he substituted as an answer, before exiting the cool building back into the blinding heat.

Arthur pulled into his vehicle and was coming across the town bearing the message of, '_Welcome to Summerside,'_. By the glowing clock on his dashboard he had made it there in record time, with no complications from the map given to him. The crumbling road ahead, pockmarked by numerous craters and potholes of all sizes, took him smoothly, pulled his car along with zero problems.

It felt like his destination was pulling him towards it.

Unbeknownst to him, the smallest edge of anxiety hit him from the second he passed that sign, so small that Arthur would not acknowledge it until later on.

* * *

"Mads, the same car has been going around the block over and over, and it keeps slowing down in front of the house. I don't like it."

A noise showing off a complete lack of interest followed the young adult's suspicions. Alfred frowned from his place at one of the front grand windows and turned to his sister, not all that surprised to see that her eyes were still glued onto what he supposed was a sport's magazine (she really couldn't stand anything other than the magazines that held something about hockey in them), one that she was leafing through with all of the laziness the younger Canadian was capable of mustering.

Eyebrows furrowing, Alfred slowly turned back to the window, only to see the familiar black SUV stroll slowly by the house...slow down further when it right at the front...then speed up again and disappear down the street. "Are you not even going to ask what kind of car it is? If you're wondering, it's an SUV, I think. And a black one. That makes it all the more suspicious, you know? Like a creeper's going around the house...is there anyone at your school that you think would try to stalk you?"

"Non, Alfred," Maddie finally replied, lazily turning another page. "You're just being overly paranoid. As usual. It's probably just a stranger who's lost."

"Okay, no one's out to get you...maybe. But what if they're up for someone else here?"

Madeline just rolled her violet eyes around in their sockets sardonically at the fact that he brushed aside her more logical explanation and proceeded to go back to ignoring him. As Alfred was completely absorbed in the fact that he could be a superhero, the sorts that were spread across the pages of DC and Marvel comics, would go into a panicked state of paranoia if he thought that someone close to him was in danger of being hurt, whether it was family, his girlfriend Sakura, anyone who was renting one of the rooms in the house, or, for that matter, strangers. So, if anyone was endangered, he would jump to their immanent rescue without a second thought.

"We should go to everyone here and interrogate them on if they have potential stalkers," Alfred was going on, peeling back the curtain every few seconds to sneak a peek at the outside world.

Again, his Canadian sister merely rolled her eyes. As of now, in the expansive house, they only had four people, not including the siblings that took care of the place; all of them were of surprisingly varying ethnics. The island wasn't the type of place that normally took in different cultures with open arms, but Bonnefoy Housing seemed to attract folks from other countries. Of their roomies of the moment was a Dutchman named Lars (a very close friend to Maddie), a Russian named Ivan (again, close to Maddie though Alfred still despised him), an islander of a different sort named Samira, and Alfred's Japanese girlfriend.

A few minutes passed before Alfred was now practically yelling, "Oh God he's stopping in front of the house. He's opening the car door now, coming around the side...oh sweet baby Jesus Maddie I can see his eyebrows from here! It's like someone glued two monster caterpillars to his forehead!"

"Alfred! That isn't nice of you to say. If he's coming in here to be a quest, you better not speak to him like that."

A dark, cerulean eyed gaze was sent her way right before the front door opened, and thus came a English laced, "Hello?"

Madeline slapped her magazine down onto the desk and immediately rose, padding over to the British stranger with a small, sweet smile plastered delicately over her features. "Salut! W-welcome to Bonnefoy Housing, monsieur." She just had to notice that he did, in fact, have some impressive patches of hair above his emerald eyes; though she would never speak on them, naturally.

A twitch that didn't go unnoticed by Alfred went through the blonde man's facial features. A second later though he was all polite smiles towards the petite girl standing in front of him. "Hello there, young lady. I've heard that this is the best place to go if you don't have anywhere to stay. If what I've heard is correct, I would like to rent a room, if any are free."

"Sorry dude, but we're all fu - ow! Maddie!" Lips pulled into a pout unfit for one his age, Alfred rubbed at his now sore side and glared down at Maddie.

"You came just at the right time," Madeline assured him softly, placing her jutting elbow back into its former position. "The island gets many tourists during the summer months and if you came even a week later than this we would have been completely filled up. But as of now we have many rooms open to you. Just...wait here one moment, I'll go get a key for you and escort you to your room."

"I'll take your stuff," Alfred said, narrowing his eyes at the Brit, whom glared straight back at him. After a long moment, as Maddie shuffled around the front desk to pick up one of the room keys, he finally managed to take the heavy looking bags from the bushy-browed foreigner, hefting them up in his hands with ease.

"H-here we go..." Madeline came scurrying back with a key in hand, using her free hand to gesture for the two men to follow her. On the way upstairs, she shot a brief glance over her shoulder and asked, "May I ask your name, monsieur? I am Madeline Williams, and the rude one hefting your things is my brother, Alfred Jones."

"Alfred F. Jones. Can't forget the awesome middle initial sis - and don't call me rude!"

Unable to help but grin a little at how strangely adorable their sibling squabblings was, the Brit complied as they arrived to the second floor, "Arthur Kirkland. It's nice to meet the both of you."

"It's nice to meet you as well, Monsieur Kirkland. What-"

"What are you here for?" Alfred interrupted his sister, not taking note of the black expression being sent his way. "You're obviously new here. This is the kind of...well, island where everyone knows each other. 'Sides, you just have the air of a stranger."

Clearly not able to take it anymore, Maddie jabbed at Alfred's side again, nearly causing him to drop the bags in hand. "_Alfred! _Will you please stop being so rude to our guest? His intentions here are none of our business. Now leave him be already, we're at his room."

Alfred did shut his mouth, having to press his lips into such a tight line that they turned white, and Maddie unlocked the door to what looked like a rather cozy room. Arthur stepped into the room with a curt, "Thank you," admiring his new abode with undisguised wonder. It was of strange proportions, the west wall sloping downwards into a sharp angle near the top. Other than that there was a large bed, a desk, an average sized television, a small bookshelf with a few shelves filled to the brim with novels, a nightstand table, two doors that could have been to a bathroom and closet, and a air conditioner settled into the one sizable window of the room.

All in all, it looked pleasant. A perfect place to hideaway and rest when he was searching up on the myths of the harbor further downtown.

"Is it to your liking?"

With a start Arthur looked down at Madeline, realizing that she broke him out of his spell...and was taken aback by her eyes. What had Brian said? Something about them being the oddest eyes you'd ever see, or something among the lines of that.

The twin pools were hued of a light...purple. Or lilac, Arthur supposed that was a better colour title for them. He would have believed that they were those coloured contacts you could get now-a-days if it wasn't for the thickly framed black glasses settled on her nose...and the fact that in the expanse of large violet were flickers of dark purple, tiny diamonds flitting around from behind the neat squares of her glasses...it looked like a little light show was playing on in her eyes.

They were truly captivating.

As he was staring, Maddie shrank back, a pretty little blush lighting up high on her cheek bones, and Alfred took a threatening step forward, staring Arthur down.

"I-uh- my apologies poppet, I didn't mean to zone out as such," Arthur apologized promptly, taking a subtle step backwards. "I appear to be doing that often of late, and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Yes, this room is extremely to my liking. It's very nice."

Blinking in an owlish manner, Maddie raised her hands and waved them about in a manner that said she was shrugging it off. "It's fine! I'm glad you like it here. Th-the weekly fee here is sixty dollars, a price that includes any food we might serve and water. You're free to buy your own groceries as well, but we have particular nights where I make something for all the guests here, and almost everyone has breakfast here."

That wasn't too bad. The nearest hotel, Arthur figured out of curiosity, was mighty pricey, a mere night being in the hundreds range. He nodded and Maddie went on, Alfred putting Arthur's bags down onto the bed in the background.

"Of course, the only rules we have is to be quiet. All of the other guests take this to heart, so it would be appreciated if you did as well. And...that's pretty much it. Since you're new, if you have anything to ask, feel free to ask Alfred or I anything about the area. We'll both be happy to answer any questions you have."

"Thank you, luv. I really do appreciate it." Arthur graced her with the most dashing smile he would create, prompting another blush out of the Canadian. Scowling, Alfred came over, muttering, "Enjoy your stay," and dropped the keys into Arthur's hands. Without further ado, he had exited the room, dragging a somewhat starstruck Madeline along behind him.

Once they were both gone, Arthur went back to his room at hand and immediately turned the air conditioner on, shoulders slumping in relief when cool air came swiftly into the room. He plunked down onto the bed and took off his shoes, opening one of his suitcases to retrieve the house shoes he brought with him.

He wasn't going to tell them yet. Arthur could only imagine what the reaction of the siblings would be if he said he was here to investigate the burning ship of the harbour. Even Madeline, as naturally polite as she was, would probably give him a look that said that Grandpa was off his rocker. He would have to look around town, find the elders. It was always the older citizens whom could give him information...the younger ones would laugh and point and accuse him of being nuts for doing such a thing.

To say the least, Arthur was used to that happening.

A lot of supernatural events occurred in small communities and areas, places where the old over-weighed the young in population.

So he would go out tomorrow. For now...it was pitch black out, and after hours upon hours of travelling he was in some desperate need of sleep.

Arthur rose from the bed and slid over to the door, grinning when he heard Alfred and Maddie going on about something or another downstairs, their words muffled by distance. They were interesting little ones, to say the least. Attractive, as Brian had said...and Maddie's eyes...refused to leave his mind, their amethyst luminescence glowing behind his vision.

Trying to shove the visions down into the darkest corners of his mind, Arthur shut the door, locked it, turned the lights off and went back to his bed, stripping down to his boxers to rid of the last licks of humidity that were trying to crawl into the room. Tossing the keys absently onto the nightable, he shoved his suitcases and bags to the end of the bed and laid down on the thin sheets.

It wasn't too long before he was asleep, lulled by the gentle _whiiirrr _of the air conditioner.

That night he dreamed.

Remembering was scarce. There was a creature whom he couldn't make out, purple shapes of light, burning brightly in the darkness and yet not allowing the creature he could hear in his night terror; it sounded like a rat if anything else, sharp claws pittering across a wooden floor, coming dangerously close to his bed, or wherever he was...

Until what could have been years into the dream. Something scuttled near him, near one of the orbs of light and was almost seen. All Arthur could make out was fur, thick, course brown fur that ended in a long tail...pink, naked...it was a rat, and yet Arthur didn't believe that the creature was truly of rodent descent. After seeing the glimpse of it another sound resounded through the air from echoes, what could have been multiple objects hitting a plane of glass at a timely rate.

It was this last noise that roused him from the nightmare.

Gasping outloud, Arthur awoke in a sitting position, his bare skin clammy with cold sweat. He stared into the darkness, air-reduced chest heaving for oxygen. When he forced himself into a much calmer state, the Brit shoved his choppy, sweat soaked bangs out of his eyes - and swore he was a second away from having a jump attack as something hit the window.

Swallowing hard, he carefully reached around and took back the curtain, dispelling the room into a sea of moonlight. To his relief, all in sight on the window were a couple of beatles. Not a moment later another one came crashing into the window with the same alarming noise he heard before. He would have to ask tomorrow on what those things were...Arthur didn't believe that he had ever come across beatles that decided they were kamikaze pilots.

Tomorrow, though. For now...he bent over the tangled sheets and puzzled over what just happened.

A nightmare on the first night of what was supposed to be a more downbeat journey for interesting, dark folklore?

Arthur sighed deeply, placing a hand over his eyes. He could only pray to God that this wasn't a sign of some sort.

* * *

Okay, not too many characters as of the moment. Will show off more in the next chapter.

The whole tale of the burning ship of the Northumberland Straight is supposed to be true. I wanted to do something with Arthur going to search up shit like this, remembered my Mom telling me about this, and decided it was about time to write with a location that I am extremely familiar with.

Anyway, I'm actually sort of pumped for this. I really want this to become one of my main on-going stories, so please give it a chance and drop by a review! It'll seriously help me out!


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